


As Far As First Meetings Go

by ashford2ashford



Series: Midnight City - Team Sleuth [2]
Category: Homestuck, Problem Sleuth (Webcomic)
Genre: AU, M/M, Swearing, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-13
Updated: 2012-06-14
Packaged: 2017-11-07 15:20:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/432600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashford2ashford/pseuds/ashford2ashford
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Midnight City. </p><p>Not the most grim and gritty city in the north of America, but still a place filled with its own little batch of crime and drug lords, where crime seemed to pay a little more than the cops trying to prevent it. A place of casinos and prostitutes and all of the sins of the night life. Having survived the world wars to become the thriving night-based city it was today. Dark and ruled by the law and crime in equal amounts. Dangerous in the night times, thriving in the day time. </p><p>Since the days of the Mobster Kingpin, it had been quiet, barely any large groups worth knowing about, save a few small crime gangs. Easily taken down of course.</p><p>Yet tonight, all that would change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Meetings

**Author's Note:**

> Part of an AU in which the Midnight Crew and the Felt have become human following the events of the Homestuck webcomic and are trying to take over the city like they used to.
> 
> Written with Semiazas. 
> 
> Thankfully, both writing styles were easy to convert into story format. Semiazas manages to write Sleuth in a way that I can write Slick against. 
> 
> This story is the main storyline that connects the Midnight Crew, Problem Sleuth, and Felt fics that i have or will put up on AO3. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy it!

Midnight City. 

Not the most grim and gritty city in the north of America, but still a place filled with its own little batch of crime and drug lords, where crime seemed to pay a little more than the cops trying to prevent it. A place of casinos and prostitutes and all of the sins of the night life. Having survived the world wars to become the thriving night-based city it was today. Dark and ruled by the law and crime in equal amounts. Dangerous in the night times, thriving in the day time. 

Since the days of the Mobster Kingpin, it had been quiet, barely any large groups worth knowing about, save a few small crime gangs. Easily taken down of course.

Yet tonight, all that would change. 

An explosion rocked the midnight air, one of the banks bursting into flames as a terrifying introduction of one of the new groups that would try to claim the city as their own. Fire licked across the entire building, the security lying outside in the streets, battered and bruised. Four figures dressed in black made their presence known in the city streets, two of them lighting cigarettes between them, almost a passionate act in the heat of the heist. One of them leapt from the wreckage, clutching bags of loot close to him, even as the largest and tallest of the four lumbered past his associates and towards a van with lots of bags stuffed full of cash.

As the sounds of sirens filled the air, one of them grinned, knowing that there was little anyone could do to stop them. Sharp teeth that seemed to drip red as the flames flickered arond them, one keen purple eye looking so pleased, so victorious, as a voice rattled forth; heard over all the noice around the group, "Welcome to our new home, boys."

.........

Wiping sleep from his eyes, the now-renowned detective known as Problem Sleuth chewed away at the fuzzy feeling in his mouth and looked through the morning's paper. Everything seemed fairly straight-forward, no news popped out at him at first - mainly because he was oddly prone to he read from the back, knowing that the impressive stories were at the front. He liked to build up to them first thing in the morning. By the time he hit the newest story his coffee was cold. Reading the headline made him much too busy to care about the warmth of his java though. 

A heist? Biggest since Kingpin?

Frowning at the early rising of this call to arms, which is what he took it as, another quixotic little quirk of his, he went to select his day's equipment, hoping to hit the beat before the cops that weren't crooked did.

As he got to the burnt out wreckage that used to be the bank, he saw a sight familiar to him. A bunch of cops surrounding the area, a few other members of the emergancy services alongside them, unable to conduct an investigation due to one violent short man preventing them from getting anywhere near the crime scene, whilst a tall skinny male gazed around insde the actual area, taking samples and making various notes on the heist. 

Ace Dick and Pickle Inspector.

Figures that this new heist was like a puzzle to be solved by the tall lanky detective. Ace had clearly been brought along to make sure that the Inspector could conduct his investigation in peace. He was as good a deterrent as any, swinging his large meaty fists and barking obscenities to anyone who even dared to try and question the motives of the one gazing around the crime scene.

"Hey, it's my favourite shut-ins" Sleuth grinned widely, glad to have them both there even if they were all aiming to take the case and get any reward they could. After the bizarre incident with the Mobster Kingpin he'd developed some kind of bond to these two comrades. All of them had experienced and partaken in some extremely twisted shit, and that sort of thing draws people together. Taking out a notebook of his own he pushed easily through the angry cops, recognising some of them from his time on the force,"What're we lookin' at here, buddies?"

Ace Dick merely curled his lip in apparrant disgust, mainly due to the amount of time that he and Sleuth had spent arguing over the years, and jabbed a thumb angrily in the direction of the third member of Team Sleuth, "You wanna know that kinda crap? Ask that guy. He's been snoopin' around in there for an age."

Ducking under police tape, Sleuth waved cheerfully at his tall gangly comrade, "Heya, Pickles! How's tricks?"

Pickle Inspector did not look at him as he gave his reply, looking closely at a piece of the wreckage, stooping over low to see if he could gather more evidence. When he spoke, his voice seemed so distant, so far away, as though he were not fully aware of anything that was happening around him. He was, of course, obviously just caught up in thought as usual. Sleuth had learned to deal with the Inspector's airy manner. "An...ah...apparant h-heist. It would seem tha-that the safe is c-c-completely empty....ah...of everything. But...there does n-not seem to be...any evidence I c-can get from this. It...it has been covered s-so well. N-no evidence. N-no clues. I do n-n-not know who did it..."

A strange incidentindeed. That certainly made Sleuth's eyebrows raise somewhat. Usually the Inspector was able to make sense of the strangest of cases, his way of thinking stretching farther outwards than anyone else's, but this one seemed to be beyond even his own imagination. 

Then his hand shot out, pulling out something from the wreckage, giving it a careful ogle. 

A playing card. A seven of clubs. 

The Inspector's eyes widened. His voice came out unnaturally high and loud as he pushed Problem Sleuth to the ground, dropping the card as another explosion rocked the air. "GET DOWN!!!!"

Covering his hat, Sleuth dropped and rolled. His keen senses made him keep an eye on the explosion as best that he could, wincing against the brightness and the shrieking in his ears that left them ringing like a church bell. When it felt safe the detective got on his hands and knees, turning around to see if anyone remained at the scene of the crime. As hope began to leave him he spotted a short man in a suit. Very young...too young for his style of clothes. He bolted almost as soon as he was spotted, barely peeking around a wall as he was.

Unfortunately for him, Sleuth had a good eye for faces

Ace Dick was shouting to them as the police and the surrounding crowd scattered in all directions, causing the panic that anyone leaving a calling card that exploded would have wanted. There was noise and sirens and the crumbling of bricks as the fire brigade tried to put out the new fires that had started. 

Yet in all the chaos, PI's soft and polite, understandably shaken, voice sounded above all other noise, next to Sleuth's ear, "...C....C4....there was....there was someone....someone here....they'll still be here....they're causing a scene...a calling card...."

"You able to run?" Sleuth was already feeling his cunning mind working into overdrive, planning the pursuit, gathering up all the clues he could see, etching that little face into memory. He handed PI his hat for safe-keeping, pulling his revolver and rolling his sleeves

As the taller male made an effort to move, he winced a little in pain, looking down to see that one of his own legs had become impaled by a piece of debris. If he was in pain, he did not show it, instead givin Sleuth the most polite smile he could offer. GPI his face looked pale, but as he stretched his arm upwards to take the offered hat, he tried to keep the hurt from his voice, "You and Mr Ace...go. I will...be fine...."

"Call out for one of the cops, a guy called Gary. He's good with this kinda thing, he'll fix ya up" Nodding curtly, Sleuth bolted, tapping on Ace's shoulder to get him to follow in the pursuit, rounding the corner of the wall.

The long street was a valley where the walls were part of tall buildings. Very few alleyways marked the street, meaning that the poor little man had quite a run before he could turn off. Luckily for the two detectives, they knew the layout of this city and it's veins like they knew their own names.  
"Ace, I need you ta cut him off at Queensway"

"You got it. Don't get fuckin' killed, asshole. Leave some for me." The detectives parted ways, leaving the pair of them alone with their thoughts (not that Ace would have many aside from the fact that he hopes he'll get to bust at least one skull in before the day is through). 

As the little guy ran ahead, Sleuth found himself suddenly pushed to the ground, a heavy object striking him from behind, followed by a great weight atop him. An iron bar pressed to his throat, blackness threatening to overtake his vision, he managed to gaze up into one wide eye accompanied by a manic grin.

Not unusual. Gangs lay traps for detectives all the time, but there was something strange about the tanned criminal atop him. The teeth were too sharp, jagged all over, and there was a large scar running down the side of his face. The one eye that Sleuth could see from his position was not a normal colour either. Dark purple. It almost managed to make him feel a little unnerved. 

Dressed entirely in black, like the little guy that had made a run for it, a black hat atop his head, holding an Iron Horse Hitcher to his throat.

Then the Mobster spoke, his voice like nails on a chalkboard, like knifes scraping against stone, grinning oh so widely, "Hello there Detective."

"Well well well, pal. Buy a guy dinner first..." Sleuth was no stranger to the traps and tricks of the gangs that dared cross paths with him and his team. He tended to buy time with wisecracking and obfuscating stupidity. His revolver was stashed before it was noticed, access as easy as the knife in his boot. Sleuth was not a cop like he used to be. In the back of his mind, he tried to ignore how much thrill he got out of that, out of how he gets to bend and work the rules. It's unseemly. Instead he focused on gathering evidence and working to turn the tables

Unlike most criminals, however, the one eyed gangster also seemed to be enjoying the struggle. Most of them would have ran, leaving the investigation to continue, but the guy atop of Sleuth seemed to want to have his name known, wanted Sleuth to see his face and hear his voice. The iron bar pressed down more so as he reached behind him to pull out a small flick knife, holding it against the detective's face. 

"No no...don't shoot me....let's have some fun first...."

"Gotta weird ideal of fun, don'cha? Mommy didn't love ya enough?" Sleuth was vaguely aware that his heart was thumping in his chest like it was about to burst. The enjoyment was simply adrenaline, he told himself, and he continued to think over how best to escape his situation. The knife to his face could prove to be problematic, the entire weight of a criminal on him moreso. All he needed was one opening...

"Boss. We got another one. Let's go. I don't think Boxcars can keep him busy for long." From out of the shadows of the few alleyways came a silky smooth voice, almost like the hiss of a snake, and seemingly disembodied even though a presence was definately there. Another person? Also a name mentioned. Was Boxcars the name of the small guy? Was there another guy? Was the one speaking the small guy?

There were too many questions to handle, but one thing suddenly became clear...

At the mention of the word 'Boss', the one atop Sleuth looked up and let out an unusual noise. A growl of sorts. "You go on ahead. I wanna...make us known properly...."

There was a sigh, followed by, "Alright. Idiot." 

Then the sound of footsteps gradually retreating and a terrifying realisation. The man that was sat on top of Sleuth was actually the leader of this apparantly new gang. Sleuth, in that moment, had the leader right there!!!  
Also that exchange, whilst giving him a wealth of information, also gave him the simplest opening he needed. One hand grasped the handle of his stashed revolver, quickly pinning it's barrel into the throat of the newest crime boss to cross him. Sleuth was aware his voice was lower than it should have been, but it sounded so hard boiled in that moment, as though the brief fight had awakened a fire in the detective that he was not aware existed, "Don't get cute. Just get off."

Most villains would have pissed their pants in terror by that point, but instead that shark-like grin seemed to get wider, both hands raised in apparrant surrender. One hand appeared to glint unnaturally in the light filtering into the alleyway, the weight atop the detective shifting as the other did as he was told. A dark chuckle escaped the lips of the other, a long tongue licking at them softly, almost hungrily, "You'd shoot me, Detective? I like that. You got balls."

"I got bullets too, 'Boss'. Tell me, where'd ya stupid attack dogs be without their big ol' boss?" Swiftly the detective moved to his feet, knowing there was no time to lose, using a spare hand to search his captive for weapons, keeping a wary eye on this new threat. 

Geez, he was carrying a lot!

All the weapons that the Mobster has on his person either clatter to the floor or are pocketed by Sleuth as evidence. However, even the detective was forced to admit that the knives were oddly...was beautiful the word? 

"Gonna admit to that there explosion?" Sleuth licked his dry lips, still pointing his gun at the other.

"Naw, Detective. That explosion had nothin' to do with me." The other fixed Sleuth with that one-eyed gaze, the purple standing out against his tanned, stubbled face. He looked rough, teeth still twisted in that sick grin, circling around the detective as he spoke, hands raised in surrender. Occasionally, some weapons flutter to the floor as several playing cards, all of them of the Spades suit, bar one that seems to go from a card to a chest of sorts - also full of cards and knives.

Another soft murmur from Sleuth, "...you related ta Kingpin?"

"Who the fuck is Kingpin?" A snort. The accent from the other was thick, growled, and yet it did not sound like it was local. More like a learned accent, one that was probably unnatural to him at first, but later became his own. Forced and spat out from behind those smirking lips.

It did not serve to make Sleuth drop his guard any, "You ain't from this town. Where are you from?"

A click echoed out as he pulled back the hammer on the gun.

"You ask a lotta questions, but I ain't one for givin' answers. Go ahead. Shoot me, Detective. Ya ain't got no reason to." The grin seemed to widen more so. A Cheshire cat smile. Daring him, practically goading him into making a move.

Sighing, Sleuth shook his head, "Well. You are the boss"

The revolver rang out twice suddenly. Sleuth knew that the gangster was startled when the bullets caused the other's kneecaps to explode. From the way that the single eye widened and the mob boss let out a scream of fury, he could also tell that it must have hurt. A lot.  
As the darker haired male dropped, one of Sleuth's fists swang out to meet him, catching him in the jaw. Far more brutal than any officer of the law should be; that much was more than obvious. Using one hand, Sleuth dragged up and slammed his captive into a wall, the barrel of the gun was firmly placed between the eyepatch and the single remaining eye, the red hot metal leaving a small burn, "Now, you seriously sayin' ya got nothin' t'do with that theft there?"

Through blood and pain, the criminal managed to keep his grin spread wide, coughing up red onto Sleuth's coat. Pain did not seem to bother him at all, the state of his kneecaps looking as though it barely registered to him, both hands wrapped around Sleuth's one hand. "Fuck you, detective."

"Wrong answer." Sleuth growled low before brutally pistolwhipping his sharp toothed opponent twice, forcing him to go down and stay down. Unconcious. Wiping his brow, the detective relaxed for a moment, staring down at the now limp form sprawled across the concrete, before kneeling over him to cuff his captive. 

Something made him stop for a moment, however, "...the hell?"

One of his arms is made of metal? 

That was impossible, Sleuth told himself, before he remembered all of the things that he himself had gone and done in the past, just to stop one master criminal. Shrugging he lifted the bound man and began to drag him to the streets. 

He stared out across town, across the city he had a feeling he'd soon have to fight to protect once again, before he turned to see a bloodied but proud-looking Ace limping back into the street to join him. 

"They got away, Sleuth. Not before I fuckin' gave 'em what for, of course, but I tell ya, they put up one hell of a fight. Best I've had in a while." At least someone was happy with how things had turned out.

The lack of evidence from PI, as well as the refusal to confess to being part of the heist, would probably mean that the unconscious criminal in cuffs would be back on the streets in no time - either by paying his bail or generally just getting away with it - but Sleuth somehow felt more excited by that thought than he should have. Reaching into his jacket pocket, pulling out a cigarette and a lighter, Sleuth sighed softly, "Doesn't matter. We got us a prize here anyway. C'mon. We'll get this fucker locked away for the night at least, and go and see if Pickles got to the hospital okay."

Cracking his knuckles, Ace spat to the side and shrugged, "Why the fuck not?"


	2. Challenge Accepted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The evening finds the 'Boss' in cuffs and a prison suit, pinned to a chair, stripped of all his weapons and his suit. His black hair is matted and stuck to his head, slicked back completely, stuck out in places. Dried blood is stuck to his face, his eyepatch remaining there, his head rolled back as though he is bored.
> 
> Sleuth walks in with two cups of coffee, waving away the standard police with a piece of paper in his mouth, authorising him to lead the case. They resent it and he smugly loves every second of it. Dutifully if angrily they go, and Sleuth is left with the so-called 'Boss'. Who is beginning to feel awfully familiar...

The evening finds the 'Boss' in cuffs and a prison suit, pinned to a chair, stripped of all his weapons and his suit. His black hair is matted and stuck to his head, slicked back completely, stuck out in places. Dried blood is stuck to his face, his eyepatch remaining there, his head rolled back as though he is bored.

Sleuth walks in with two cups of coffee, waving away the standard police with a piece of paper in his mouth, authorising him to lead the case. They resent it and he smugly loves every second of it. Dutifully if angrily they go, and Sleuth is left with the so-called 'Boss'. Who is beginning to feel awfully familiar.

"Coffee?"

The single purple orb opens and stares down at the black liquid in the cup, wrinkling his nose as though smelling it from where he was. His voice is cracked and dry from misuse, growling and thick, "....coffee, huh? Your coffee the same as the coffee we got?"

"It's a drink. It's also a hat" Sleuth sips at his, eyeing the criminal and loosening his tie. He showed little care for pain last time. Meaning this interrogation was going to get messy. War levels of messy. It'd been a while since he'd had a chance to really give it to someone but he oddly looked forward to it

The Boss does not seem particularly interested in the drink. His one eye is instead fixed entirely on Sleuth. "What am I here for again?"

He speaks with confidence, probably because the investigation has turned up with nothing but Pickle Inspector in hospital, and no evidence to speak of.

"Assault. And wearin' ya coffee" The hot beverage is poured all over Slick. It's still magma hot, freshly made. Sleuth performs this task as simply and coldly as a mafia hit-man, showing no sign of any emotions as he throws the cup away and pins a chair under the door-handle to get some 'alone time' with his new pal, "You attacked me. Why."

A sharp hiss of pain. The single eye closed, lips curling in disgust, revealing rows of jagged teeth. The Boss seems unshaken by this act, sighing heavily, the grin already starting to creep back onto his face, "My way of sayin' hello and thank you for introducin' us to this nice city'a yers."

"It's easier ta shake hands. Why did you attack me?"

"Tch. You're the law. I hate...the fucking law." A throaty chuckle. "You would rather I shook your hand with my left hand?"

"Heh, metal, robotic an' such, s'nice. Real nice. Y'know I got y'little friend in the next room, right?"

"Oh yeah? Who would that be?" The gangster grins again.

Shit.

Think.

"Boxcars"

"Little?" A soft chuckle. "You don't got shit in that next room'a yours. Don't bullshit me."

"Alright, y'got me on that one. Jus' figured you'd take that better than the other news." He held Slick's gaze, forcing his expressions with practiced skill, "I didn't catch his name but he's dead. My partner shot him as he ran. Was hoping you'd believe we had him here..."

There is a moment of silence and then the gangster starts laughing. Not laughing out of being driven crazy by the news, but genuine laughter, almost crying, "Oh...you're too fucking much. You're...almost as stupid...as the cops that used ta run...that city I built....oh fuck...what the fuck? Fucking hell. You fleshy things are...really fucking something..."

Sleuth frowns, "I must be missin' the joke"

Grinning through his teeth, Slick cackles, "I don't think you killed anyone, Detective. You reek of fuckin' lies."

This was harder than any of the others he'd faced before. Sleuth took off his tie, pacing slowly for a second as he thought over what his best method would be in the situation

No name, no familiar face to go on, no evidence, no calling card. It was like this man did not even exist before today. He licked his lips as he gazed at the detective, tasting the coffee that had been thrown over him, almost like he was curious. He seemed surprised, lapping more so, mumbling to himself softly.

Sleuth threw himself into his next gambit. Unseen, he removed the four aces from the deck of well-used cards he kept in his jacket slung over the chair. These were related somehow, "Does this look familiar?" 

Holding up the Ace of Clubs, Sleuth bent his mind to reading Slick's expression, hoping for something, a clue or a hook, anything

"Yeah it's an Ace of Clubs. We gonna play poker or somethin' now? I'm real good at poker." This time the criminal looked half interested, distracted from the coffee taste, "I didn't think ya had poker in this world."

It was Sleuth's turn to look interested, "Why d'you keep referring to it like it's not the only world?"

The purple orb gazed at him for a moment, then the Boss shrugged again, "'Cause it ain't. What do you think?"

Sleuth couldn't figure this out at all. It was seriously confusing him, "I...wait, what?"

Another shit eating grin that seemed to split the gangster's face apart. Then, the most random question, ".....wadda they call ya?"

After a moment's hesitation, unsure of what exactly he should be telling this mobster, "Problem Sleuth. I'm a Private Detective, solve a lotta the more...bizarre cases. Lotsa organised crime stuff too. Lemme guess, shit y'aint' involved with?"

"Me? Oh Sleuth...I'm as innocent as a young hoofbeast. Can't ya tell?" The grin says otherwise, before the mobster casts his purple gaze to the wall, "Th' name's Spades Slick. I own this town now. Remember that."

The arrogance gets to Sleuth too much. He hates it. That feeling of being so close but having nothing to go on. Knowing the crime and the criminal, knowing that he's gonna just walk out of there. It eats him up inside. Snapping, Sleuth punches Slick in the throat, slams his face into the table in front of him and then drags him up by the hair.

"I will be keeping my eyes on you, Spades Slick. Ya won't make a move in this town without me knowin'. I will keep on your ass until you an' ya dumbass palooka crew are outta the sandbox an' deep in prison with the rest of the scum. We clear there, pal?"

Another choke. A harsh laugh from behind a wall of pain. Then suddenly, Slick is glaring straight into Sleuth's eyes, his single orb wide with excitement and....pleasure? He leans in, the best he can, forcing his entire body weight forwards, until he manages to snag those sharp teeth on an ear, drawing blood, before whispering huskily, "I hope so. I hope you're there. All the time. I got my eye on you, Problem Sleuth. You're gonna be mine."

Kicking the psycho back into his chair, the startled detective staggers back, confused. This was not how it was supposed to go. If he was going to keep this up, if he was going to catch this madman, who enjoyed his ow pain and enjoyed the challenge, he'd have to be a persistent thorn in his side. Unshakeable and irritating.

For some reason, Problem Sleuth began to laugh.

Spades Slick glanced upwards again as the door to the interrogation room opened, the familiar face of one of the detectves standing there. He takes one look at Slick, covered in blood and coffee, then sighs and glares at Sleuth. "His bail's been paid. One of his...associates is here to collect him."

The officer is a friend of Sleuth's and the way he motions his head is obviously a hint to come and see this other guy. 

Slick is led out in cuffs and given his suit and clothes back. The deck of cards is also given back, due to no one being able to work out the glitch to them. Standing at the police station doors is a tall thin tanned male, looking incredibly sharply dressed. Sharper than diamonds. 

Slick grins widely, "Knew ya'd pull through for me, Droog."

"Hey. Spade's Slim" Sleuth leans against the wall, pulling out a cigarette in the entrance of the police station. He'd given up smoking, or so he liked to tell himself.

The gangster looks back lazily, "Yeah? What is it, Problem Shmuck?"

Without missing a beat, "I'll be seein' ya back here real soon. Count on it"

"Don't bet on it." The smile widens. Challenge accepted. Then the two criminals exit, leaving Sleuth with the start of the problems to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the change in tense in this chapter.  
> Hope it's not too offputting!


End file.
